The sound of a plane engine coming to life is heard, propellers spinning in sync with an electric guitar solo and accompanying drums. The crowd cheers as a man with messy black hair, in gear reminiscent of a late-1940s fighter pilot, complete with a bomber jacket, goggles, and a mask over his mouth, jogs out. His arms are spread wide, tilting from side to side like an aeroplane while running around in a circle.
DS: Oh, this is going to be good.
David Bekker: On the way to the ring, from San Cristóbal in the Dominican Republic, standing 173 centimetres and weighing in at 75 kilos, Flyboy Figueroa!
Figueroa runs forward and slides on his kneepads, pointing at the sky with both index fingers as a single firework explodes behind him.
DS: Well, look, man. I've seen all manner of high-flyers in the businessman, but not like this man! When he takes it to the air, sometimes he stays there.
SDS: I've seen his highlights. Amazing. And the outfit?
DS: His grandfather was a fighter pilot. I had a great uncle and some cousins who were too. We bonded about it.
SDS: Met him in the ring?
DS: Nah, in a... massage parlour... Yeah, that was it.
SDS: ...
Figueroa, after slapping hands with fans on the way down, climbs the steps, then the turnbuckle and walks along the top rope, once again with his arms spread for balance.
SDS: What incredible balance! He's walking around the entire ring.
He does, turnbuckle to turnbuckle until he's back where he started and then jumps off. He lands with a roll, stops on his knees and throws his fingers up to another explosion of pyro from the corner.
Referee Damaso Gasco taps the Luchador's shoulder and then taps his own watch. The crowd boos.
DS: This ref's still a dick.
Figueroa holds up his hands and takes off his bomber jacket, signalling the end of his entrance.
A modern remix of Cello Suite No.1 in G major, BWV 1007 by Johann Sebastian Bach is heard on the speakers. The crowd is utterly confused as the Yemeni man walks, no longer in his glasses and sweater, now wearing a boxing-style robe.
David Bekker: And the opponent-
Mudir (now with a microphone): Please, please, Mr Bekker. Rest your vocal cords for the main event. I would like to introduce myself. Thank you.
Bekker goes back to his seat.
Mudir: Good evening, Pisco.
The crowd pops.
Mudir (starts walking down): Pisco. An interesting name for a city and apt, given how your education system is, as they say, "piss poor".
The crowd boos.
DS (laughs): I love this guy. It smells like piss, too!
SDS: You've used that one already.
Mudir: So, allow me, for one night, to take on the responsibilities that your administrators shirked. My name is Mudir Al-Nābighah, but you may simply refer to me as Mudir. I come from the Ibb Governorate in what is known as the Janad Region in the Republic of Yemen. I stand at a respectable 180 centimetres, and I weigh in this evening at a not-so-insignificant 96 kilograms.
SDS: He also clearly likes the sound of his own voice.
DS: I don't blame him... No homo. There, are you happy now?
Mudir climbs the steps, wipes his feet and enters the ring. Gasco taps his watch again. Mudir waves him off.
Mudir: There's one more thing you need to know about me. Not only do I always have a plan, I am the plan.
SDS: And I thought Zázrak was bad enough.
He proceeds to disrobe, revealing long pants and forearm sleeves with fingerless gloves, all green with lime circuitry patterns, as well as knee pads and boots of the same lime colour. He then extends a hand to Figueroa.
Mudir: May the best man win.
Figueroa moves to accept it, but then Mudir pulls his hand away to fix a stray strand of hair before going to take a corner.
DS: HAHAHAHAHA!
Mudir: Of course, I intend to. (throws mic away)
Figueroa closes his hand into a fist and goes to his own corner.
Gasco shakes his head and calls for the bell.
The two men circle each other.
SDS: And here we go, our third and final Thunderwight match of the night. It's very interesting how Mudir is choosing to carry himself here, given who he's facing. Figueroa was drafted 38th overall, while Mudir was drafted 46th. I have to wonder if he's overcompensating.
DS: Darryl, come on. In this business, if you're not your own biggest fan, you won't get anywhere.
SDS: You're preaching to the choir. I had to learn that the hard way, myself. Still though. That was quite a show he put on.
Figueroa throws a sharp leg kick. Mudir checks it and quickly steps into the pocket for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, immediately forcing the Dominican back into the ropes.
SDS: Mudir is using muscle in the early goings.
Figueroa jumps up and bounces off the ropes, leaping and falling and throwing Mudir with an arm drag.
SDS: Beautiful move! I wonder if Mudir planned for that.
Mudir gets back to his feet. Figueroa charges, ducks under a punch, bounces his back off the ropes and uses the momentum to perform an aerial into an Enziguri!
Crowd: WHOA!
SDS: AMAZING!
Figueroa gets up and starts hopping up and down, higher and higher each time.
DS: I told you. DO. NOT. LET. THIS. MAN. FLY!
SDS: STANDING FROG SPLASH! THE HANG TIME! The cover! Kickout by Mudir! So much for the plan.
DS: Hey, he hasn't lost yet!
SDS: Figueroa to the outside. Springboard Sento- Mudir got the knees up! Crucifix pin. Kickout! Both men got back to their feet. Figueroa with a roundhouse. Mudir ducks. Now with Headlock. Figueroa slips out. Hammerlock applied. Mudir with a Snapmare Takedown. Elbow to the crown of the skull.
DS: BRUTAL!
SDS: There's the cover. Figueroa kicks out! Now a headlock. Flyboy is grounded for the moment!
Figueroa bends and twists his body to wrap his legs around Mudir's head.
SDS: Figueroa counters into Grounded Headscissors! The technical skill is as smooth as silk.
Mudir escaped the hold with a kip-up. He then tries a kick to the seated Figueroa, but the latter lies flat, then reaches up for a School Boy Roll-up.
SDS: Mudir forced to kick out again. I'm still waiting for the plan, Diogo. He has been outsped and outwrestled at several points.
DS: Only takes one moment. We saw it just now.
Figueroa runs to the ropes and flips forward into them, bouncing off and using the momentum to backflip into a Pelé Kick, but Mudir sidesteps, causing the Dominican to land awkwardly. The Yemeni takes advantage and grabs him in a Front Facelock.
SDS: DDT by Mudir! One moment indeed.
Mudir keeps hold of the Facelock and rolls backwards, and pulls Figueroa back up to his feet before transitioning to 3/4 Facelock and dropping down.
SDS: Snapmare Driver! Figueroa face-first into the mat!
DS: Ele terminou!
Gasco: 1! 2! 3! Ring the bell.
Cello Suite No.1 in G major, BWV 1007 returns. The crowd boos.
David Bekker: Here is your winner, Mudir!
SDS: A wonderful sprint that likely could have gone either way.
DS: I don't know about that, companheiro.
SDS: What are you talking about? Figueroa was in control for large portions of that match.
DS: There's in control and then there's in charge.
SDS: What exactly is the difference?
DS: Just at the ring, Stroligo.
Mudir stands and dusts off his shoulders, and fixes his hair again before finding his microphone again: All... according to plan.
He drops the microphone and leaves. Figueroa comes to, holding and shaking his head.
DS: I like it! The Plan Himself!
SDS: Ring awareness, reflexes, opportunism, perhaps. Planning? That's a bit of a stretch.
DS: That's because you thinking too small, my friend.
SDS: I just don't see it, yet. Either way, a landmark victory!
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